


Hunter of Hunters

by Syntaxeme



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor Speaks French (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Drinking, Bottom Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Complicated Relationships, Denial of Feelings, Drama, Eventual Modern AU, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Murder, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Past Abuse, Possibly Unrequited Love, Promiscuity, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, Trans Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Trans Male Character, Vampire Bites
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntaxeme/pseuds/Syntaxeme
Summary: The Dellarosas are a very old and well-known vampire family in 18th Century Italy. Their youngest heir, Antoni, is shaken from his unchallenging but unsatisfying place among them after a chance meeting with a much older vampire, Alastor Bouchard, leaves him afflicted with a curse that even his family can't accept. He forms a reluctant partnership with Alastor for their mutual benefit, but as they come to know each other better, both vampires will get more out of the relationship than they've bargained for. Whether that 'more' will be positive or negative remains to be seen.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 99





	1. A Stranger in Southern Sicily

**Author's Note:**

> Don't @ me, RadioDust fans, but I'm starting a new story. I have a lot (I mean A LOT) planned-- _if_ you guys are interested in seeing more of it. Pls let me know!  
> Also, this story is partially inspired by [@lena_vickx](https://twitter.com/lena_vickx)'s vampire!RadioDust art [[x](https://twitter.com/lena_vickx/status/1240969350288293888?s=20)] [[x](https://twitter.com/lena_vickx/status/1283457120998952961?s=20)], so she's somewhat to blame for this too. ;)

A near-full moon glinted on the waves as Antoni wandered down the Catania beach, arms crossed against the cold, lost in his own frustrated imaginings. Only a hundred meters or so away, his family home was lit up with music and conversation, filled to the brim with finely-dressed guests who were utterly unaware of Antoni’s absence. He would’ve liked to join the festivities, but because he refused to play his part—wear a gown, paint his lips, be the demure lady his mother and sister were—his father had forbidden him from showing his face. So he strolled along the water instead, trying to escape his miserable place at home if only for a few minutes.

He stopped at the water’s edge to look out on the sea, everything calm and quiet so far removed from his family’s reputation and all the many hangers-on that accompanied it. This wasn’t the first time he’d considered leaving, going out to see the world on his own terms and live his life as he chose. But he wouldn’t. He was too much of a coward, too comfortable in his gilded cage…at least so far.

“Well, what have we here?” An unfamiliar voice sounded behind him, and he spun around to find a man some few meters away, hands folded behind his back, head tilted to one side as he observed Antoni curiously. His hair was a shock of crimson, his clothing similarly vibrant and clearly expensive. It wasn’t difficult to identify him as one of the Dellarosas’ guests, though it was certainly strange to hear anyone speaking English in Sicily. There was something playful in his tone as he went on, “A little bat away from his colony?”

“Much like yourself,” Antoni countered, looking the stranger up and down. He could smell the man’s vampiric blood, but it was dilute, the sort that came from a changeling rather than a born vampire like Antoni and his family. Odd that his father would’ve invited someone without a noble bloodline, considering how intent he was on preserving their ‘class.’ “But I’m not sure why you’ve left the gala when you had the option to stay. I’m sure it’s far more entertaining there than out here.”

“What makes you think that’s the reason I’m here?” the stranger asked, idly wandering closer.

Antoni’s brow furrowed. “Typically when foreign vampires visit Catania, it’s on my father’s invitation for one of these”—he gestured toward the estate—“fetes. Do you mean to say you weren’t invited?”

“Your father?” The redhead perked up at that, ignoring Antoni’s question to instead ask his own. “That would make you the child of Enrico Dellarosa, yes? How interesting.”

“Why is that?” Beginning to get a bit uncomfortable from the stranger’s intent observation, Antoni sidled away from him and crossed his arms tighter. All at once, the predatory fascination disappeared from the stranger’s face to be replaced with a pleasant smile, so quickly that Antoni almost wondered if he’d imagined it altogether.

“Forgive me for saying so, but you must know your father’s reputation among our kind.”

Antoni scowled and looked away. Yes, he was very well aware that most who know of Enrico Dellarosa knew him as a very old, very dangerous vampire; a ruthless opportunist; even a child of the Devil himself—or so the stories went. He also knew that while the rumors had been exaggerated over the years, there was still some measure of truth to them. What he didn’t much care for was the thought that his father’s image might be transposed onto him. “Yes, but what does that have to do with me?”

“Not much. That’s exactly the point. I’m surprised that a devil like him could have a child so angelic,” the stranger answered smoothly, catching Antoni thoroughly off-guard. His albinism set him apart from the rest of his family, certainly, but he’d always feared the effect was rather ghoulish. ‘Angelic’ was a light he had never thought to see himself in. Despite himself, he could feel his cheeks starting to flush as he glanced back at the unfamiliar vampire at his side. With a charming grin that displayed a pair of impressive canines, he went on, “But where are my manners? My name is Alastor Bouchard; may I have yours?” Sweeping an elegant bow, he held out his hand for Antoni’s. He gave it, and the stranger— _Alastor_ , that is—surprised him by lifting it to his lips to softly kiss his knuckles.

“I, um… A-Antoni, I’m Antoni,” the blond stammered, berating himself for getting flustered so easily over a few kind words and a smile. But how else could he have reacted? Now that they were closer, it was impossible not to notice how beautiful this unfamiliar vampire was, how sharp his features, how deep and intense his eyes, how soft his lips.

“Tell me, Antoni”—oh, he very much liked hearing his name in that lovely, mellow voice—“if this is your family’s affair, why are you not inside, taking part in it yourself?”

Antoni’s giddy excitement faded as he was forced to recall the position he was in. “My father and I are of different opinions on my ‘place’ in the family,” he answered reservedly, shifting in a vain attempt to alleviate the pressure put on his chest from the bindings beneath his shirt. “So he banned me from attending. The idea of staying locked away in my room while the gala went on around me didn’t appeal, so I came out for some fresh air.”

“Meaning…no one knows you’re out here.” Alastor was still holding his hand, his thumb running lightly across Antoni’s fingers, and the blond suppressed a shiver of intrigue as he realized the implication behind the words. His father would’ve had a fit if he’d known that Antoni was alone with a strange man—and a changeling, at that—but then, there was quite a lot about Antoni’s personal dealings that would’ve given his father conniptions.

“No.” He brushed a lock of pale hair back behind his ear with a coy smile. “I suppose they don’t.”

“I see. Might I keep you company, then?” Alastor asked, leading him gently closer by his hand, red eyes wandering to his lips, then further down to his exposed throat and collarbone. “It hardly seems fair for a beautiful creature such as yourself to be alone tonight. So many others are out enjoying themselves. Someone should be enjoying you too, n’est-ce pas?” That last came out in lowered tones that sent a delicious chill up Antoni’s spine.

Although he knew it was foolish to let himself be seduced so quickly, he couldn’t help but enjoy every word out of Alastor’s mouth even more than the last. He _had_ been hoping for something to take his mind off his difficulties at home, and he got the feeling that whatever Alastor had in mind would keep him thoroughly occupied. Besides, how often did he meet a man who didn’t already know him by the wrong name? How many times had _any_ man looked at him with such fervid hunger in his eyes? This moment—and Alastor himself—seemed too rare to pass up.

“I couldn’t agree more, signore,” he purred, stepping in closer still to rest his hands against Alastor’s chest. “But I do hope you plan to repay me for that privilege.”

“Careful what you wish for, ma sourisette.” One of Alastor’s arms wrapped around Antoni’s waist to hold him close, the other hand sliding up the back of his neck and into his hair. When he tried to raise his head for a kiss, Alastor instead tilted Antoni’s head back and leaned down to press his lips to the blond’s throat. Despite the brief pain of his hair being pulled, Antoni still let out a whimper of excitement as Alastor’s tongue slid across his skin and sought out his pulse.

“Mh. Be careful,” he muttered as sharp teeth grazed his throat, though he couldn’t deny that the feeling of danger somehow heightened his anticipation.

“Don’t worry, mon cher. I won’t take too much.”

“Y-you…what? I don’t—ahi!” he hissed as Alastor bit down just hard enough to break the skin, and a rivulet of hot blood flowed down his neck, along his collarbone, toward his chest. As Alastor leaned down to catch it with his tongue and followed it all the way back up to the wound he’d made, Antoni struggled past the physical pleasure to ask, “What are you doing?”

“Come now, I’m sure you’ve done this enough times yourself to recognize it.” Alastor’s casual tone had disappeared into a rough growl with just that brief taste of blood, his eyes already glowing scarlet.

“But you—you can’t feed on me,” Antoni argued, finally gathering his wits enough to try to escape. But his captor held fast, keeping his arms trapped between them. “You can’t! It’ll kill you!”

“That’s an old wives’ tale, cher. Believe me, I’ve proven that several times over,” Alastor said with a dark chuckle. “You did say you would let me enjoy you. You never specified how.” He was obviously much stronger than Antoni, strong enough that his struggling was hardly a factor at all, and a jolt of genuine fear coursed through the young man’s body.

“W-wait, please! I—” His voice choked off in a cry of pain as fangs mercilessly pierced his skin. Alastor’s mouth closed over the wound, and he let out a low, chilling groan of satisfaction as he drank. His arms tightened around Antoni, hands sliding across the champagne-colored silk of his shirt to savor each sensation the moment provided.

Despite having done it a thousand times himself, Antoni had never been fed on before, and the experience was not what he expected. There was pain, yes, and fear and indignation, but there was also a certain rush that came with being held so tightly and drunk in so eagerly. Even the feeling of utter helplessness brought with it a kind of perverse thrill. Without meaning to, he found himself clinging to Alastor’s coat to hold him closer, losing his breath and panting in the redhead’s pointed ear. If he’d had the presence of mind, he would’ve been utterly mortified at how arousing he found this position—essentially being prey to a more powerful vampire—but he didn’t, so he couldn’t begin to stem his weak moans of conflicted pleasure.

Upon realizing that Antoni’s response was not one of fear or dismay, Alastor quickly pulled away to stare at him in shock and…was he blushing? Indeed, he didn’t seem to have been poisoned by Antoni’s vampiric blood, and watching his tongue slide across his lips sent yet another chill through the blond’s tired body. A drop of blood had escaped the corner of his mouth during his enthusiastic feeding, and without much thought, Antoni leaned forward to lap it up himself. Of course, because it was his own blood, it had no real taste or effect on him, but the gesture felt significant nevertheless.

Alastor’s crimson eyes widened in umbrage, and he released the blond to let him collapse to his knees on the damp sand below. Antoni let out a soft cry as he fell, clutching at the wound on his neck and fighting to catch his breath. He supposed Alastor might leave, having gotten what he wanted, or perhaps out of disgust at his reaction. But he didn’t.

Instead, after a moment of consideration, he spoke in the same even tone he’d affected before his attack: “You did want to be repaid, didn’t you? Perhaps you’d like to try it as well?”

“You mean…yours?” the boy asked, somewhat dazed as he looked up to meet Alastor’s eyes. Something about this positioning fanned the flames already smoldering in his core, but the prospect being offered was somehow even more dangerously intriguing.

“That’s precisely what I mean. You’ve seen already that it won’t harm you, and I’m sure you must be famished after you shared with me so generously. I can promise this will satisfy you far more than any human meal could.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

All Antoni’s life, he’d been raised with warnings that a vampire’s blood was essentially poison and therefore not safe to drink. Not only that, but feeding on another of their kind was taboo for societal reasons, tantamount to cannibalism in their circles. He knew virtually nothing about the man in front of him, the man who had beguiled him so easily and then bled him so cruelly. But dio santo, something about him was so painfully alluring as to cloud Antoni’s better judgment. Not only was he magnificent to look at, not only was he smooth and confident enough to charm the Devil himself, but his irreverence toward vampiric conventions was something Antoni had never before encountered. A completely new experience—and now he was offering yet another.

“You would let me bite you?” he asked, skeptical.

“Ha! No,” Alastor chuckled condescendingly. “But I can share with you regardless. If you want it.”

Surely there was some sort of catch. Surely he wasn’t offering out of the kindness of his heart (as if there were any kindness to be found in the black heart of a vampire). Yet for the life of him, Antoni couldn’t see the downside past his own overwhelming hunger and desire. Swallowing hard, still a bit weak from blood loss, he nodded, but Alastor wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it clearly, cher,” he ordered, sending another rush of heat through Antoni’s stomach.

“I…I want it,” the blond confessed softly.

With a pleased grin, Alastor pulled his sleeve back, raised his inner wrist to his mouth, and bit down without so much as a flinch. He then dropped his hand to offer it to Antoni as blood—very dark blood, it seemed—started to trickle down his palm. When the blond hesitated, he chided, “Go on, now, it won’t do to waste it.”

Antoni opened his mouth, leaned in, and after another moment’s uncertainty, licked the shining liquid from the stranger’s fingers. As his body registered the taste, his eyes flashed brighter blue, and it felt as if his every nerve had suddenly come alight with urgent bloodlust. Drinking always affected him, of course, but never to this extent.

Without any conscious effort, he found himself eagerly lapping every drop of spilt blood from Alastor’s fingers and palm, savoring every moment the flavor lingered in his mouth. If he’d thought being fed on himself was pleasurable, it was nothing compared to the act of feeding like this. Having cleaned every visible streak of blood from the redhead’s fingers, he latched onto the wound itself and drank as well as he could, growling and whimpering in desperate need. ‘Delicious’ felt too mild a word. Even ‘ecstasy’ was too soft to describe the inescapable sensation overtaking him.

He didn’t realize he’d gotten overzealous until Alastor’s free hand grasped his throat to pry him away, forcing him to gasp in a breath and struggle to control his suddenly ravenous appetite. “Greedy, aren’t we?” the redhead laughed, a bit breathless from the rush and intensity of Antoni’s drinking.

“Per favore,” Antoni whined. “Dammi di più. Solo un po di più?”

“Begging won’t do you any good, chéri, especially in a language I don’t know. You’ve had quite enough—more than enough, in fact. Why, I’m sure you won’t need another meal for weeks.”

“But…even if not more of your blood…” The blond flushed as his mouth refused to form the words he wanted to speak. This entire encounter had left him so utterly, unbearably aroused that he struggled not to beg for attention, for release. How could it be that Alastor felt no such desire? He was a man, wasn’t he? And vampires, especially, were well known for their pursuits of physical pleasure. Yet as he rolled his sleeve down again, he seemed oblivious to the racing of Antoni’s heart, the lust in his eyes. “Please, don’t leave. I’ll go mad.”

Alastor’s ever-present smile remained in place, but there was something cold behind his eyes as he responded, “Greedy indeed. I’ve already treated you once, and still you want more. You should be grateful I didn’t drain you altogether. I’m sure a sheltered thing like you has never had the messy experience of returning from death, so consider yourself lucky.” His tone was unexpectedly bitter, and Antoni’s brow furrowed as he processed the words.

“You know nothing about me,” he answered, mustering the courage to be indignant.

“Please. The Dellarosas are the oldest Progenitor family in Europe; only the very newest of our kind don’t know about them. And knowing you’re one of them, I’m sure it’s safe to assume you’ve been kept quite comfortable and happy all your life, your every desire met, your every wish granted. Am I wrong?” Where all that resentment was coming from, Antoni couldn’t be sure, but considering his family couldn’t even be bothered to respect his identity, he took exception to being told how perfect his situation was.

“Make all the assumptions you like, but my life hasn’t been so simple as you’d like to believe,” he growled, pushing to his feet to dust the clinging sand from his clothing. Perhaps it was because he’d just had such an enlivening meal, but his temper felt hotter than usual, and he didn’t particularly care to be looked down on by a stranger (even a gorgeous one). If he couldn’t have the sort he wanted, another form of confrontation would have to do. “Does it make you feel superior to imagine I’ve had everything handed to me? To think you’re the only one who’s struggled?”

The redhead seemed more amused by Antoni’s anger than intimidated. “Oh, it seems I’ve struck a nerve. Just a moment ago, you were all but begging for me. Why the change of heart, mon cher? I suppose you aren’t accustomed to being told ‘no.’”

Antoni’s pale cheeks only grew redder, either from chagrin or anger, his hands balling into fists so tight that his claws bit into his palms. “How dare you! You arrogant…figlio di puttana! You have no right to speak to me that way! If you despise us so, what are you doing in our midst? Are you a hypocrite here on my family’s invitation, or are you simply a _nobody_ who cheated his way into an event no one asked him to attend?”

“My, my,” the redhead purred, eyebrows raised as he looked Antoni over with growing interest, “I’m certain your tongue didn’t feel so sharp a moment ago. Maybe I need a second opinion after all.” He wet his own lips, smirking wickedly, only making Antoni’s blood boil hotter.

“You are insufferable!” he hissed, turning on his heel to stride back toward his home, unable to stand another moment of the confusing tension this infuriating stranger brought about in him.

“Oh, don’t be that way.” Alastor caught his wrist to pull him close again, his chest pressing against Antoni’s back while his lips found the blond’s ear. “I was just starting to find you interesting, ma sourisette.”

“Take your hands off of me,” Antoni growled, rigid.

“Is that what you really want? The night is still young, and there’s still a great deal you and I could enjoy together.” Alastor’s hands slid down to grasp Antoni’s hips, his tongue brushing the wound he’d left earlier. “Give me more of what I want, and I’ll provide whatever you need.”

If he was fully honest with himself, there was a moment wherein Antoni was tempted by the offer. His body was still burning with heat and excitement of one sort or another, and it would’ve been all too easy to channel that into sex, to let his anger become passion and the tension in his body melt into satisfied submission. The feeling of Alastor’s body so firmly pressed against his own was a powerful motivator to simply stop fighting.

But then the redhead mistook his uncertainty for surrender and chuckled, “I thought as much.” That alone, that further show of egotism, was enough to make Antoni’s mind up in precisely the opposite direction.

“I said let me go!” he snarled, rounding on his captor and lashing out with a vicious slap. The impact sent Alastor reeling back a few steps, his cheek red and bleeding from Antoni’s claws dragged across it. He looked shocked for a moment, blinking as he touched his cheek to confirm the wound—then an even wider, almost manic grin spread across his face.

“My, but you’re full of surprises,” he cooed, apparently undeterred by violence. Some base, stupid part of Antoni's subconscious insisted that all that blood shouldn’t be going to waste, but he shoved it to the back of his mind and continued on his way to the house. Alastor hastened to follow but made no attempt to touch him this time. “You know, when I decided to come here, you are not at all what I expected to find.”

“Why _did_ you come?” Antoni asked without sparing him a sideways glance. “If you resent us as much as you seem to?”

“I was hoping to meet another ‘son of the Devil,’” Alastor answered casually, “and perhaps to kill him if the opportunity presented itself.”

Antoni stopped in his tracks again as he reached the road separating his family estate from the beach. From this distance, he was close enough to hear the faint sounds of the gala drifting out of the house, close enough to spot his parents through an upper level window as they chatted with some of their guests. He might not have been on the best of terms with them, but the prospect of their death still inexplicably frightened him.

“My father…?” he asked quietly.

“Who else? But you needn’t fear for him anymore, mon cher. I’ve found something much more entertaining to pursue.” Their struggle earlier had pulled Antoni’s hair from its tie, and cool fingers now pushed it back over his shoulder to expose his neck, sending a distinctly cold chill down his spine. “Now, I can’t accompany you back inside, but I assure you I’ll be looking forward to our next meeting.”

“What makes you so sure we’ll be seeing each other again?” Antoni asked, stealing a glance at the redhead as he started to leave.

With a friendly smile, Alastor answered, “For your sake, I certainly hope we do. You’ll understand what I mean within a few weeks, I’m sure. Bonne soirée, Antoni.” He gave another exaggerated bow and, instead of transforming into a bat as most vampires would, simply disappeared into the shadows without a trace. That was hardly a standard ability for their kind. And hadn’t he said _another_ son of the Devil? _Who was the first, then?_

Despite the arguable intimacy they had just shared, Antoni still knew little to nothing about Alastor Bouchard. In fact, he wasn’t certain he wanted to find out. But if Alastor himself was to be believed, he might not be given much choice in the matter.


	2. Absentee Obsession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a quick heads-up: this story is going to feature Antoni having casual sex with a lot of random men, but it will typically happen off the page. I also added a couple of new tags, so please check them out. Chapter 3 coming Friday!

Antoni’s family was quite confused when they noticed he hadn’t been feeding for the past week. If they drank their fill each time, it was most common for an adult vampire to need two meals every day, perhaps every other day, yet he had gone three times that without so much as batting an eye. He simply didn’t feel particularly hungry. He knew the reason, of course, but he couldn’t very well explain about his very filling meal on the night of the gala.

After a full week had passed, his twin took measures into her own hands. She appeared at his bedroom door late one morning after everyone else had gone to bed, with a furtive look on her face and a warmed flagon of blood in her hands. “May I come in?” she asked, masking over her nerves with a bright smile.

“Of course.” Antoni took a step back to allow her inside, and she came to sit on the edge of the bed, patting the spot beside her. As he joined her, Molly put the flagon’s spout to her lips and tilted it upward to gulp in a mouthful of warm red liquid, giggling as the blood leaked out of the corner of her mouth and she was forced to catch it with her fingers. Antoni returned a weak smile of his own, easily picking up on what she was trying to do as she offered the jug up to him.

This wasn’t an entirely uncommon practice for them, though it had been a few years since they’d done it last. Antoni had never much cared for all the propriety and etiquette their family demanded for feedings (all of which were supervised when they were children), so every once in a while, the twins would steal away to the kitchens and ask one of the cooks to heat a portion of the chilled blood they kept on reserve, then scurry back to their room to share it beyond the watchful gaze of their father. It seemed clear Molly had something similar in mind now. If for no other reason than to ease her distress, Antoni accepted the vessel and took a shallow drink himself. This was the first taste of blood he’d had since his encounter with Alastor, and he couldn’t help but notice…it didn’t feel the same.

The experience of feeding had always had a significant physical and psychological effect on him, as he understood it did for most vampires. He’d grown accustomed to the feeling over the course of his life, so he knew more or less what to expect when he fed. It was a relief, a delight, a comfort. But for the first time, the rich, metallic taste on his tongue didn’t make his heart race; the smooth texture didn’t give him chills; the warmth didn’t calm him and set him at ease. This was the first time in his life that all that was missing, and he almost wondered if this must be how humans felt when they ate.

His confusion and disappointment must have shown on his face, as Molly tilted her head to one side and asked, “Is something wrong? I thought it tasted fine.”

“Oh, no, it does,” Antoni agreed. “I’m just not very hungry, I suppose.”

Even as she accepted the flagon back from him, Molly was chewing her lower lip, clearly fighting with herself as to whether she should argue. There was silence between them for a few moments, but just as Antoni opened his mouth to try to explain, his sister blurted, “What’s the matter with you, caro? You haven’t fed in so long, and even now you seem reluctant to try. Is it because you’re unhappy? Because of the way Papà’s been treating you?”

“No, passerotta, it’s nothing like that,” Antoni assured her quickly. Yes, he’d certainly been unhappy as of late, but not to the point that he no longer wished to live. “I don’t mean to worry you. I just haven’t felt that I needed it.”

“But why? This isn’t normal, Tonino,” Molly insisted as she put the jug aside on his nightstand. “It all started after the last gala; is it meant to be some sort of protest against Papà? He’s been worried too, you know.”

Antoni had to bite back the sarcastic response that immediately came to mind, knowing that their father’s refusal to acknowledge his feelings was not his sister’s fault. “No, it’s nothing to do with him.” After a moment of silent hesitation, he ventured, “Was there anyone at the gala you didn’t recognize? Anyone Padre had you meet?”

“What? What does that have to do with this?”

“Just…humor me, please. Was there anyone new attending?”

Molly frowned and shook her head absently. “No one Papà introduced me to personally, no. It was the usual crowd.” That must have meant that Alastor really didn’t attend the party himself. Antoni had already decided that he must’ve been a very distinguished guest or someone distinctly _un_ welcome; there was no other conceivable explanation.

“Suppose,” Antoni began at length, toying with the fringe on the edge of his bedclothes. He really wasn’t sure whether it was safe—or smart—to bring up his secret rendezvous to his sister. But after having obsessed over it for the past two weeks, after having exhausted his every idea as to who Alastor Bouchard actually was and what his motivations were, the prospect of sharing the mystery with someone he trusted was all too tempting. “Suppose I met someone recently.”

Molly blinked. Then blinked again. “Someone like…a young lady?” Antoni grimaced slightly without looking at her, and she sighed. “Tonino, you know if Papà sees you with a man, he’ll think—”

“It’s what he thinks already,” he answered, perhaps a bit sharper than necessary. “Who I pass my time with isn’t likely to change that.” His sister was the only member of his family who bothered trying to understand the predicament of his gender, but even she didn’t comprehend his position fully. If she had, she likely wouldn’t have tried to suggest that he change other things about his person—his mannerisms, his clothing, his exclusive interest in men—in order to _earn_ their father’s acceptance. He knew she was only trying to help, but it was still exhausting to feel so alone in his own home, among his own family.

After a few moments of silence, Molly began, “This gentleman of yours. You met him the night of the gala?” Antoni nodded silently. With a conspiratorial smile starting to form on her lips, she continued, “And is that why you haven’t been eating at home? Because you’ve been sneaking out to feed with him?”

Well, it was as good an explanation as any for his recent lack of appetite. With a sheepish smile, he answered, “Keep this between us, all right?”

“Of course! I know you were supposed to be here that night,” Molly reasoned, “so Papà wouldn’t like to know that you were out. My lips are sealed, caro. But it makes me feel much better to know you’ve still been eating. If Papà asks, I’ll tell him we ate together, all right? He’ll never suspect a thing.”

“Thank you, Mollina,” Antoni agreed, planting a kiss on his sister’s cheek. Satisfied that he wasn’t starving himself, Molly returned to her room to leave him alone. That day, perhaps because of their conversation, he dreamt of Alastor.

_In his dream, his one-night acquaintance had returned to meet him on the beach again, and an intense hunger was gnawing at Antoni’s stomach._

_“All you have to do is ask, mon cher,” Alastor told him, both hands lost in his hair, their lips only a breath apart. “But you will have to ask, or I’ll give you nothing. Now, how desperate are you?” _

_Despite his pride, despite his humiliation, Antoni conceded and mumbled, “Please.”_

_Alastor’s smirk widened as he wet his lips. When they were so close, his tongue brushed Antoni’s lips as well to make him whimper. “What’s that, ma sourisette? I can’t hear you.”_

_“Please! I’m starving, I need it!” the blond whined, grasping tight at Alastor’s shirt, eyes locked on the changeling’s mouth. He wasn’t certain whether it was blood he needed so badly or something else, but regardless, Alastor seemed to understand and took pity on him._

_“Good boy,” he purred, leaning closer still, tilting Antoni’s head up toward him._

But before their lips could meet, Antoni was woken by an incessant knocking at his bedroom door, a servant coming to wake him for the evening. “I’m awake!” he called back irritably, then buried his face into his pillow and willed his body to calm down from the dream’s artificial excitement. It felt like an absolute betrayal that his subconscious presented Alastor in such a way, that it focused more on the frustratingly attractive aspects of his person rather than the self-absorbed and disrespectful ones. Regardless of how ‘entertaining’ he might have found their first exchange, Antoni still had no interest in him beyond finding out how much of a threat he might be.

— — —

Later that night, he approached his mother in the study as she was reading. When she saw him enter, she greeted him with a smile. Antoni took more of his looks from his mother than his father, from the rounded features of her face to the soft waves of her hair—though he hadn’t inherited the brown that gleamed in her eyes or the pink that warmed her cheeks (as his sister had).

“Hello, toppolina,” she said, willfully ignoring the fact that his chest was bound and he was dressed in breeches. Antoni was too distracted to bother correcting her. “Have a seat. What brings you to me?” A fair question, considering they rarely talked purely for the sake of socializing. That wasn’t the sort of relationship Antoni had with his parents.

“I came across an unfamiliar name in my reading lately,” he lied, “a vampire who’s said to be quite powerful, yet I’ve never heard of him before. Do you know anything about an Alastor Bouchard?”

Lauretta Dellarosa was typically a very patient, very tolerant woman. In order to be married to Enrico, she had to be. Upon hearing Alastor’s name, however, she lost the gentleness that typically characterized her, her gaze hardening in suspicion as she shut the book in her lap. “Where did you hear that name?”

“I can’t recall exactly,” Antoni replied, kicking himself for not having come up with a more detailed explanation for the question. “I take it you do know him?”

“I know of him, yes.” And from the sudden chill in her tone, her opinion of him was clear already. “That…man is a disgrace to our kind, a thrall with no respect for his betters.”

“A thrall?” Antoni tilted his head, hoping he wasn’t playing up his feigned ignorance too much. The term was an objectively insulting one, a harsher and more degrading word for changelings. “How is it his sire hasn’t brought him in line?”

Lauretta looked away and answered reservedly, “I couldn’t say.” That wasn’t very convincing. “What I do know is that he’s dangerous and power-hungry. He’ll go to whatever lengths necessary to serve his own interests.”

 _Now who does that remind me of?_ “What sort of lengths?”

His mother shook her head. “A young lady shouldn’t hear of such—”

“Well, that isn’t a concern with me,” he insisted, refusing to take no for an answer. “I’m the one asking. If I do swoon when you tell me, you can blame me for it.”

Although pressing his luck in this regard was dangerous, it was clear his mother knew more than she was letting on, and Antoni couldn’t stand passing up the opportunity to learn. That realization, knowing his curiosity about Alastor was beginning to border on obsession, was an embarrassing one, but it didn’t change how he felt. The night of their meeting had been one of the most eventful of Antoni’s sheltered life thus far; he couldn’t simply pretend it hadn’t happened.

Despite the conflict visible on her face, his mother eventually let out a tense sigh and explained in lowered tones, “He’s a blood traitor, amore. He hunts and murders our own kind with no remorse. His sire was one of the First Progenitors, like your father, and—”

“Was?” Antoni repeated with a frown. His mother blanched but quickly cleared her throat and waved the question aside.

“Yes. Alastor no longer serves him, as you might imagine. The man was a mortal given the gift of eternal life, and he now uses it to harm those of us he should aspire to. It’s utterly deplorable.”

Antoni didn’t answer right away, considering. If Alastor had a history of hunting other vampires, he could only assume it was to feed on them—but murder? There were only a handful of ways to kill a Progenitor, a naturally-born vampire like Antoni and his family, and the First were said to be nearly impossible to kill. If Alastor was capable of such a thing, he was even more dangerous than Antoni had imagined. And more interesting besides.

“Have you and Padre ever met him?” Antoni wondered aloud.

“Certainly not, and I can only hope it remains that way. I shudder to think of my daughters”—she winced at the hard glare Antoni gave her and tried again—“my children ever being exposed to a monster like that.”

_It’s a bit late for that, Madre._

— — —

Just over two weeks after meeting Alastor, Antoni woke with cravings like he hadn’t experienced in months. Typically, when he started to get hunger pangs or feel irritable, he was able to feed right away before the symptoms ever worsened enough to distress him. This time, there was no gradual build of discomfort and need; immediately on waking, he could think of nothing else but his hunger.

The staff in the kitchen would’ve been glad to prepare a meal for him, but he knew the mental aspects of his thirst wouldn’t be satisfied by drinking blood from a bowl. The other option was to locate one of the human servants for a more personal one-on-one dining experience. They understood it to be part of their obligation in working for the Dellarosas (and were very well paid for it, of course), and many of the men in the house were well-acquainted with the other needs that accompanied Antoni’s feedings. As long as he didn’t drain them to the point of death, they wouldn’t be turned and would be back to work the very next day.

After getting out of bed and making himself presentable, he found himself hurrying through the halls, seeking out one of his preferred lunch dates while trying to ignore the frustration that grew with each moment of hunger. He was moving so quickly through the entrance hall that he almost didn’t hear someone call his name from the second floor landing. Almost. He stopped himself at the foot of the stairs and looked up to see one of the two Merlo twins—the younger one, Dante—looking back at him with a grin, which quickly faded into concern as he saw how frazzled Antoni looked.

“Buonasera, Tonino. Is something wrong?” he asked as Antoni hurried up the stairs to meet him. Dante and his twin, Brio, had always been attractive, both tall and broad-shouldered with thick black hair and sea-green eyes. They worked as footmen wherever needed in the household, and neither of them was a stranger to Antoni’s bedroom. Of the two, however, Dante was still human and could therefore satisfy both of Antoni’s cravings rather than just one.

“Not at all, tesoro,” the blond answered, already wrapping his arms around one of Dante’s to cling to him. “But I am starving. Could you be troubled to abandon your duties for an hour or two to satisfy me?”

Dante’s confident smile came back right away. “It would be my pleasure.”

Because they were nearer to the guest wing than the family’s quarters at the moment, the two of them hurried down the corridor to their left and into an unoccupied room, where Antoni locked the door and shoved Dante’s back against it. He tried to catch Antoni’s lips for a kiss, but the blond was too preoccupied with his appetite to focus on anything else just yet. He ran his tongue up Dante’s throat, moaning against olive skin as he found the spot he liked, just under the brunet’s jaw. When he bit down, Dante groaned and grasped his hips tighter, holding him closer still to let him drink.

But what Antoni expected to be an immense relief instead turned out rather underwhelming. The blood on his tongue was hot and fresh, and the young man it came from was a temptation all his own, yet the usual rush of bliss that came with feeding simply wasn’t there. He swallowed one mouthful. Then another. Then a third, almost reluctantly. When he drew away, frowning, Dante panted, “Is that all, bello? You told me you were hungry. Or was that an excuse to get me alone?” He lifted Antoni’s head and tried to kiss him again, but again the blond turned away.

“I…I’m sorry, Dante,” he muttered, taking a step back to break the human’s hold on him. _What’s the matter with me?_ At any other time, he would’ve been eager to surfeit himself on Dante’s blood (and everything else he had to offer) without a moment’s hesitation. So why, now, did it not satisfy him? Even worse than the deprivation of pleasure was the fact that his cravings weren’t abating in the slightest. He still felt jittery, unfocused, irritable, and now he didn’t even understand why. “I can’t.”

“No?” It was clear Dante was every bit as confused as he was; he knew how ravenous Antoni’s appetites could be, so to see him shy away from feeding them was a very odd occurrence. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No, no, of course not. I just don’t…feel anything,” he confessed, coming to the realization himself as the words passed his lips. Even the prospect of sex didn’t appeal at the moment, as he was too shaken and distraught to enjoy it. Despite the darkness, he could see Dante grimace from the inherent insult those words carried.

“I’m sure I can help with that,” he offered. Before Antoni could tell him not to bother, Dante abruptly swept him up into his arms and kissed him hard. The blond let out a squeal of shock and started to push him away, but a heated shiver coursed through his core as Dante held fast, and he found himself leaning into the kiss, moaning softly against the human’s lips. Why he was so intrigued by this feeling of being pushed, being helpless, he didn’t understand.

But it didn’t take long for him to suss it out. The nervous excitement in his stomach was all too reminiscent of that moment he’d been trapped in Alastor’s arms, conflicted between fear and pleasure and pain all at once. That thought quickly led to the memory of drinking Alastor’s blood and how much more fulfilling it was than Dante’s. God, if only he could have that one more time…

Finally realizing that Dante was starting to undress him, he made a sound of protest and fought his way out of the human’s arms to get back on his feet and compose himself. “I’m sorry,” he panted as he swept out of the room. Even he knew it wouldn’t be right to sleep with Dante when all he could think about now was Alastor.


	3. Forgive Us Our Trespasses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: minor character death, transphobia

Antoni’s inexplicable condition persisted for several nights more, his cravings only growing worse all the time while he frantically searched for a way to end them. He tried drinking from nearly every male servant in the household, only to be disappointed each time. He tried blood from their reserves. Nothing. He persuaded the cooks—with much cajoling and whining—to prepare him an actual meal with blood incorporated into the food. He was _able_ to eat it, yes, but it felt pointless. It wasn’t even hunger he was combating but something much more insistent, much more distracting.

He started to dream of Alastor consistently. Each time, he begged shamelessly for another taste of the redhead’s blood, but Alastor cruelly refused, instead telling him to be patient a while longer. But that task grew harder with each night he remained unfulfilled. He’d never been forced to suffer through such powerful cravings for so long before, and it truly did make him feel as if he might go mad.

He didn’t realize what he needed until one early morning found him in the dining hall with his family, seated opposite his sister at the table and keeping to himself so his racing mind wouldn’t run away with him. He was nursing a glass of red wine, listening only vaguely to his father drone on about this or that happening in the town, about merchants at the port or discontent brewing on the mainland. Though the food did nothing to nourish their bodies, the act of eating was still a sensory pleasure they enjoyed, and beyond that, it was customary for the family to have dinner together most nights as a means of socializing.

While Antoni was gazing, unfocused, at the candles in the center of the table, one of the attending footmen appeared at his side to refill his glass—and the scent of blood immediately caught his attention. It wasn’t often a vampire’s blood should be spilled under their roof, but whatever the reason, there was no mistaking the scent. Looking up at the servant at his side, he found Brio Merlo with a carafe of Syrah in one hand and a hesitant smile on his lips.

“Grazie, mio amico,” Antoni said quietly, hoping not to disrupt his father’s monologue. He quickly located the source of the scent, finding the palm of Brio’s unoccupied hand wrapped with gauze. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a small cut, signorino. I’m sure it will heal within the day.” There was a spot of red visible through the white of the bandage, and Antoni swallowed hard as his eyes locked on it. It looked the same as any human’s, but at this distance, the scent was so alluring he could hardly restrain himself from tearing the gauze away to lap up whatever blood remained on Brio’s hand. And _again_ , he thought of Alastor. The thought of him alone had become utter torture, as it only made Antoni’s cravings flare brighter.

The poor blond spent the rest of the hour tense in his chair, bouncing his leg restlessly beneath the table and warring with himself internally. To the rest of the household, the prospect of drinking a vampire’s blood was just as verboten as he had thought it until recently. He was sure none of them would willingly share with him. None, perhaps, but a young and polite changeling who had more than a small crush on Antoni and had never refused him any request in the past. It would be wrong to manipulate him that way…but Antoni was at his wits’ end. If he didn’t find some way to satiate his needs soon, he might very well lose control altogether and attack someone without warning. He was desperate. Surely if he could just have it one more time, he would be more prepared the next time the cravings started and better able to resist them. He repeated this hope again and again in his mind until he believed it enough to justify his plan.

After dinner, after the rest of his family had dispersed to their rooms, he discreetly pulled the dining hall’s doors shut and approached Brio as he was working on clearing the table. “Are you still in pain, cucciolo?” he asked, taking Brio’s injured hand in his own.

“Antoni. I—no, I’m fine. Though I appreciate your concern,” the brunet answered, a bit bashful despite the strength his name implied. Apparently realizing the position he had found himself in, perhaps seeing the hunger in Antoni’s eyes, he swallowed hard and went on, “But I should finish my work. I’m certain the signore wouldn’t like us to be here together. Alone.”

“I don’t intend to tell him,” Antoni teased. “Give yourself a moment to breathe, and let me take your mind off this.” He pressed a kiss to Brio’s palm, shivering in desire as he came so close to what he wanted. When he slid his tongue carefully under the edge of the gauze, Brio let out a shallow, shuddering breath and tensed where he stood.

“Please be careful,” he muttered, though Antoni’s tongue on his skin was clearly districting him significantly. “My blood is—”

“Don’t worry,” the blond purred, his eyes already starting to glow dimly. “One little taste won’t kill me.” He’d intended to take Brio to his bedroom to continue this conversation, but his impatience quickly won out over his better judgment. Unable to stand waiting any longer, he stood up on his toes and dragged the changeling into a kiss, licking his lips to provoke him into participating properly. Of course, he didn’t need much encouragement; within moments, he was kissing Antoni deeper, lifting him up to sit on the edge of the table in order to make up for the difference in their heights. Trying to disguise it as fevered passion, Antoni nipped at his tongue, just hard enough to make him bleed, but if he noticed, he didn’t comment on it.

Finally, _finally_ , Antoni got another taste of what he’d needed for a week, rich heat and pleasure flowing through him with the very first drop of red he tasted. He let out a grateful moan and found himself sucking on the brunet’s tongue—but it wasn’t enough. Of course, there was no way to drink his fill without a proper bite. Which meant he would have to ask.

Breaking away from the kiss, he fought to catch his breath while Brio did the same. Seated right on the table’s edge, he was in the perfect position for Brio to grind against his hips, making his hypersensitive body buck and squirm from the friction. “What can I do, amore?” the brunet asked, resting his forehead against Antoni’s. “Tell me how to please you and I will.” His willingness somehow made this easier and harder at the same time.

“Let me have a real taste of you,” Antoni answered, and Brio’s cheeks started to flush. Before he could get the wrong idea, Antoni clarified, “Let me bite you, cucciolo.”

The changeling jerked away in shock, eyes wide. “I’m certain the signore wouldn’t look lightly on that.”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

“Even if not, my blood would poison you.”

“It won’t! Believe me, it’ll only make me want you more.” Wrapping his legs gently around Brio’s hips, Antoni pulled him close again to slide both hands up his chest. With his lips pressed against the brunet’s throat, he whispered, “And then we’ll see what _I_ can do to please _you_. I’ll be sure to express my gratitude very thoroughly.”

Brio’s throat constricted with a gulp, and he wrapped one arm around the blond’s slim waist. “I suppose, if it’s what you want,” he conceded, sending a flood of relief through Antoni’s mind.

“Thank you, Brio.” Without further ado, he found the perfect spot and sank his fangs into smooth skin, moaning and humming as that heavenly sensation washed over him again with the taste of blood. It wasn’t the usual pleasure he’d been looking for in his human meals but an experience similar to the first time with Alastor: all-consuming and overwhelming. It didn’t so much cure his cravings as channel them into something enjoyable; he was still tense and energetic, but it now felt controlled, a condition he could claim as his own rather than vice-versa. Why on Earth had he waited so long to seek the solution he so obviously needed?

He was brought back to himself by the sound of clattering silver and breaking glass, blinking his eyes clear to realize that Brio had collapsed to the floor and dragged the tablecloth with him. He was pale, paler still than even a vampire would typically be, his breath quick and shallow, his eyes unfocused. “Brio!” Horrified, Antoni quickly jumped down from his seat on the table to kneel next to him. “Are you all right? I—I didn’t mean— Why didn’t you stop me?”

It almost seemed as if he couldn’t hear Antoni speaking at all. The wound on his neck still bled sluggishly, and Antoni was forced to accept that he must have taken too much. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have allowed that to happen, but this time he’d been so urgently hungry, and feeding felt so sublime… While he was lost in his panic and guilt, Brio’s breathing grew slower, weaker, until it stopped altogether and the room was completely silent.

_Potrà Dio perdonarmi._

Despite his argument at the time, Alastor had been right to say that Antoni had never experienced death himself. He wouldn’t say that he was afraid of it, knowing how hard he and his kind were to kill (for good), but he’d always heard it was an incredibly unpleasant ordeal to go through. Not something he’d want to inflict on another person, especially one like Brio, who had only ever been kind to him. Yes, he would wake again soon enough, but it wouldn’t change what Antoni had done.

“Hello? Is everything all right in there?”

An icy chill shot down his spine as his sister’s voice called from just outside the door. This was the absolute last position he wanted to be found in by any of the household’s other members, and certainly not by Molly. Damn him, why hadn’t he locked the doors? “Molly, wait!”

“Tonino? What are you doing in—” Despite his protest, the door swung open to reveal his twin on the other side. Her dark eyes widened as she took in the scene—Antoni kneeling beside Brio’s still body, blood still streaked down his chin, the bite wound on Brio’s neck—and she let out an ear-splitting scream. “Antoni, how could you?”

“I-it was an accident!” he said quickly, getting to his feet to approach her. She stepped back as he came closer, sending a pang through his heart with the fear in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to take so much.”

“You shouldn’t have fed on him to begin with! He’s one of us! What were you thinking?” As if he didn’t hate himself enough already.

“I couldn’t help myself.” His eyes started to sting with tears once again as he realized what she must think of him. His sister, his own twin, was looking at him like she hardly recognized him, like he had become a monster in her eyes. “I’ve had such horrible cravings for days, and nothing else would stop them!”

“What the devil is going on down here?” Their father stormed into the corridor behind Molly, first checking to be sure she was safe, then following her gaze into the dining hall. In contrast to her fear, his face immediately contorted with anger. “You stupid girl, what have you done?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Antoni repeated, covering his face with both hands as if hiding would let him escape this moment. “He gave me his permission, but I…I lost control.”

“I knew there was something wrong with you,” Enrico growled, sweeping into the room and pushing Antoni aside to kneel next to Brio and check his pulse. “Tsk. Not only a cannibal but a murderer as well.”

Antoni cringed at that condemnation, only withdrawing further into himself. “He’ll wake soon…”

“No, cara mia, he won’t,” Enrico said as he got to his feet again. He took a step closer, and Antoni couldn’t help but cower, frightened as ever of his father’s imposing stature; he had more power in one hand than Antoni did in his entire body, and he didn’t hesitate to use his intimidation to his advantage. “You understand so little and presume so much. Do you think the rules you’ve been taught all your life have been purely for my vanity? Do you think there are no consequences to your actions?”

“I don’t understand,” Antoni stammered, unable to look anywhere near his father, his voice choked with tears.

“No, you don’t. This boy was a changeling, Antonia. You robbed him of the blood that fueled his mortal body, that allowed him to continue living beyond his death.” Enrico’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble, a warning of violence to come. “The blood in his veins was all that kept him alive. And you selfishly drained it. What does that make you, if not a murderer?”

His hands beginning to tremble as he realized what his father was saying, Antoni shook his head in dismayed confusion. “No. I…no! You’re wrong. H-he’ll be fine. He has to be.” He could vaguely hear the murmuring of other voices out in the corridor and realized the servants must have come to investigate the commotion as well. Meaning they must all see what was happening, what he’d done, and the growing pit of shame in his chest threatened to swallow him altogether.

“You obviously can’t be trusted,” his father went on, unmoved by his tears. “There’s no telling which of us you’ll attack next. I can’t have a threat living under my roof, among my family.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Antoni looked up at him, utterly disarmed. “What?”

“You have no right to be hurt when this is your own doing,” Enrico told him, black eyes devoid of pity. “You’ve defied me for years, you constantly flout my rules, and now not only have you fed on another of our kind, you’ve killed one of my servants. I can’t abide that, Antonia. Not even from you.”

“Papà, please,” Molly piped up from the doorway, her own tears flowing freely as she strode into the room to wrap her arms around Antoni’s shoulders. “Please, give him another chance. He’ll—” At their father’s glower, she stopped herself and turned her eyes downward. “She’ll be good. No more arguments. No more misbehavior. Everything will be the way it used to. Isn’t that right, Nina?”

The forced cheer in her voice only broke Antoni’s heart further. She was trying to help. He knew that. She was trying to spare him being banished from the only home he’d ever known, from his family and their protection. It was practically a death sentence to be so suddenly cut off from his life as he knew it—but the price she was asking in return might kill him just as surely. To bite his tongue when called by the wrong name, to smile and endure when men treated him as an object, to be ‘seen and not heard,’ to have no agency in his own life…

“Just say yes, sorellina,” Molly insisted, practically begging. “I’ll help you find a solution to this. I’ll be right here with you. Just promise you’ll be good.”

Staring down at the floor, his vision blurred with tears, he clenched his hands into tight fists and tried to force himself to say the words.

 _I’ll be good._ If he had done as he was told on the night of the gala, none of this would have happened. He could try to blame Alastor for his condition, but he was the one who had chosen to leave his room.

 _No more arguments._ What good had it ever done him to argue with his father in the first place? It only caused trouble for both of them.

 _No more misbehavior._ After all, his shameless disregard for propriety was half the reason Brio was dead. The rules were there for a reason, just as his father had said.

 _I promise, Papà._ The rift between them had only started when Antoni had begun to oppose his role in the household. If he could just forget how wrong it felt, if he could make himself be obedient instead of being honest, maybe his father would have mercy on him. He tried again to honor Molly’s promise, to agree to her terms, but he couldn’t find his voice.

“Well?” Enrico asked sharply. Antoni blinked and looked up at him again. His eyes were cold as ever as he waited, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed. He looked expectant, as if anticipating a tearful apology, an admission that Antoni had been wrong all along, a solemn oath to never question his authority again. And then what? Would that be the end of the discussion? Would he simply forget what had happened here and move on from it in exchange for Antoni’s acquiescence?

Finally, it was becoming clear that Enrico cared far less about Antoni’s sins than about his disobedience. If he was so readily willing to forgive Antoni on the condition that he fall back in line, he couldn’t possibly be very concerned about the transgression itself. He didn’t care about Brio. He didn’t care about the morality of Antoni’s actions. All he cared about was maintaining control: over the situation, over his family, over everything in his household.

The blond’s brows furrowed, and he stated firmly and clearly, “No.”

“Antoni!” Molly hissed, but it didn’t shake his resolve.

“I’m sorry, sorella. I’m sorry for what I did to Brio and for frightening you,” he told her in earnest, gently removing her arms from his shoulders. Looking up at his father, he went on, “But I won’t beg for the right to stay here and pretend to be something I’m not. If you want me gone so badly, then I’ll go. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to have one less _problem_ to deal with.” Without waiting for Enrico to answer, Antoni embraced his sister and planted a kiss in her hair, giving her a confident smile despite wanting to cry himself from the pain on her face.

Holding his head high, he then strode from the room, out into the corridor and past all the gawking servants, refusing to acknowledge their staring. Mercifully, he didn’t see Dante, but the thought of him still sent another miserable pang through Antoni’s chest. The entrance hall was eerily quiet other than the tap of his shoes as he made his way to the door, but just as he stepped outside, he heard his mother’s voice call, “Wait!” Despite himself, he paused on the doorstep. His mother quickly reached him and caught his arm in a vicelike grip. “Don’t go, amore. Let me speak to your father.”

“She’s said enough already,” Enrico interjected, apparently having followed Antoni from the dining hall. “Let her go, Lauretta. She’s made her choice.” His lip curling into a sneer from being constantly misgendered, Antoni wrenched his arm away from his mother and started off again.

“No! Please, cuore mio, don’t do this,” she begged past her tears. “She’s your daughter. _Our_ daughter!”

“That creature is no daughter of mine,” Enrico answered coldly.

“How can you be so cruel? Antonia—”

“My name is Antoni.” He looked back one last time, glaring directly into Enrico’s eyes. “But you’re right. I am _not_ your daughter.” Whatever else they called after him, he didn’t hear it, nor did he try. If he was to be exiled from the Dellarosa home, he would have to accept that he couldn’t go back, and he couldn’t spend his time wishing otherwise.

Maybe this was for the best, he mused as he wandered down the beach away from the Dellarosa estate. He’d wanted to leave for perhaps the past ten years, to escape the constant disrespect and disregard he experienced on a daily basis, but he’d been too comfortable to do so. Maybe this was the push he needed. Yes. He would make this change into a positive one, he was certain.

Yet when he was far enough from the estate that he felt he wouldn’t be seen, his legs shook beneath him, and he collapsed into the sand to cry. Burying his face in his hands, he allowed himself a few moments of weakness, a few moments to let the reality of the night sink in. He had no idea of where to go, what to do with himself. Catania was all he’d ever known, and even then he rarely had cause to venture beyond the estate. He had no friends who weren’t family friends. No money that wasn’t his family’s money. Little life experience to draw from to direct himself. He tried to console himself with the thought that he at least had his freedom, but in practical terms, the things he was losing heavily outweighed what he was gaining.

Nevertheless, after a few minutes had passed and he’d exhausted his tears, he took a slow, deep breath and dropped his head back to look up at the night sky. The sea of velvety black was already lightening slowly but surely toward blue, toward dawn. It was late, considering they’d finished dinner, so he only had perhaps two hours until sunrise. That was his most immediate concern.

Pushing to his feet, he oriented himself with regard to the town—judging by the cluster of lights in the distance—and started in that direction. As long as he had a goal to focus on, he would have no time to despair. The most important thing was simply to keep moving forward and not look back. That was his only choice now.


	4. The Mistress of Palermo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next few chapters are for you Found Family fans. And also fans of Venture. 👀 Enjoy!

The following day, Antoni ventured into the town of Catania alone for the first time. His first order of business had to be obtaining some sort of protection from the sun, so just before dawn, he approached a clothier he knew to have served his family in the past. The young woman attending the shop was visibly unnerved by his appearance but served him nevertheless. It took some doing, as they weren’t really in fashion, but he managed to locate a thick hooded cloak that would suit his purposes well enough. He realized too late—as it had never been a concern of his before—that he had no money on him.

“Well,” he began hesitantly, smoothing the silvery velvet in his hands, “I’m sure my family will repay you if you explain the situation to them. I really should be going, or I would speak to them myself.”

“I’m sorry, signore, but my mistress would never allow me to offer her wares without payment,” the girl told him with a nervous frown. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but I can keep the garment reserved for you until you return to purchase it.”

 _Cazzo._ He knew very well that wasn’t an option. Despite his reluctance, despite not wanting to put her in a difficult position, he didn’t seem to have many other options than to force the issue. When he looked up to meet the young woman’s eyes, she stiffened slightly where she stood and couldn’t bring herself to look away. Given that most of the humans on the estate would’ve followed his direction without argument, he didn’t often need to employ hypnosis to have his way, but he still recalled how to do it.

“I’m afraid I can’t afford that delay. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes,” the girl answered, nodding absently. It was always a bit unnerving how mechanical they became in this state, but he supposed it was a necessary evil.

“Good. You’ll tell your mistress that Signore Dellarosa’s son required her charity for the moment, but the signore will be happy to repay her if she brings the matter to him,” he went on, sweeping the cloak onto his shoulders and pulling its hood over his head without breaking eye contact. “I’ll need gloves as well. Do you have any in the same color?”

Satisfied that he was protected as much as he could be, he left the shop to find the sun just beginning to rise. It took some effort to tamp down the panic that dawn awoke in him, but he managed to do so, turning to walk in the opposite direction just to be safe. So he supposed he was heading west.

— — —

His journey was a long and miserable one, highlighting just how different the world was beyond the walls of his home. Antoni walked without knowing where he was headed, walked until his feet were blistered and screaming with pain, and then continued to walk. When night fell, he was able to shift into his bat form and fly, but even that became exhausting before long. Only three times did he pause in the towns he passed through, just long enough to rent a room (again forced to hypnotize a mortal into obeying him) and sleep the day away. The third time, his ‘host’ tried to assault him in his sleep, and in his panic, Antoni wound up killing the poor fool. Another death on his hands, and self-defense or not, his conscience wouldn’t let him forgive himself. He resolved from that point not to interact with humans unless absolutely necessary.

The days of traveling alone gave him ample time to think, time to wonder how his sister was coping with his absence, to wonder whether his parents missed him at all. More than once—several times, in fact—he found his mind wandering back to the night of the gala and scrutinizing every word Alastor had said in the hopes it might help him understand his new condition.

_What makes you so sure we’ll be seeing each other again?_

_For your sake, I certainly hope we do. You’ll understand what I mean within a few weeks._

He knew. That bastard had known the entire time what sharing his blood would do to Antoni, and he’d chosen to do it regardless, without any warning or explanation. What didn’t make sense was _why_ he’d done it. Was it purely an act of sadism? Purely to know that Antoni would suffer for it in the coming days? Oh, he was hoping they would meet again as well; he had quite a list of choice words for the man who had so blithely ruined his life.

— — —

It was maybe a week after he left home that Antoni stumbled on another seaside town comparable to Catania in size and grandeur. After he’d wandered through hills and forests for days on end, the smell of the sea and the sound of the waves were so painfully reminiscent of home that it brought tears to his eyes. It was well past midnight as he reached the coast and took a deep breath of ocean air, grasping at the barest hint of comfort he’d found since departing Catania.

Some small, fatalistic voice in the back of his mind said that perhaps it would be easier to simply walk into the sea than keep wandering aimlessly in search of purpose—but he had a feeling that drowning wouldn’t kill him, not for good, and he didn’t relish the thought of finding out. That did leave him with the question of what he _was_ going to do with himself. And as luck would have it, an answer arrived as he stood contemplating his options.

When a hand touched his shoulder, Antoni flinched away and bared his fangs by reflex, having been too long without positive social interaction to recall his manners. The swarthy young man—perhaps the same age as Antoni himself—who had reached out to him held up both hands in surrender, smiling tentatively. His black hair was arranged into wide, defined curls and looked almost blue in the moonlight, his eyes the color of gold. Because it had been so long since he’d encountered it, Antoni immediately noticed the scent of vampiric blood about him as well.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Please don’t think I mean you any harm; I was just curious as to what you’re doing out so late and alone.” His accent, which Antoni didn’t recognize, was strong enough that it made his Italian a bit difficult to decipher. As he explained, his eyes roamed curiously over Antoni’s form, forcing him to realize what a mess he must look. “Do you, er…need help?”

Antoni’s cheeks flushed, and he considered shifting into his bat form to disappear into the night as quickly as possible rather than explain his situation. But this was the first time he’d encountered another vampire since he’d left the estate, and he wanted to believe it could be a positive turn for his journey.

“Could you…tell me where we are?” he asked despite his embarrassment.

The brunet cocked his head to one side. “You don’t know? Did you only just arrive?” When Antoni didn’t answer, he replaced his smile and went on, “This is Palermo, mio amico. If you are a new arrival, my mistress will want to meet you. Do you have somewhere to spend the day?”

Antoni shook his head very slightly. The more times he said it—that he had nowhere else to go, that he was destitute, that he did indeed need help—the more he was forced to accept it as fact. Considering he’d spent the past 30 years as nobility, that was quite a difficult pill to swallow. “I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense! She would never forgive me if I left one of our own alone on the streets. Especially a darling bambolina like you.” The golden-eyed boy winked at him, and Antoni couldn’t help but smile at the compliment. “Come with me, caro, and we’ll have you taken care of. What’s your name?”

“Antoni,” he answered, following gratefully as the brunet led him into town.

“I’m Arden. On behalf of our household and the town, let me welcome you to Palermo.”

Antoni followed his escort through the town’s darkened streets and up to a hill overlooking the coast, where there stood a mansion at least as grand as his family’s, if not more ornate still. Despite the late hour, the house was still lit from within, which suggested the mistress Arden had mentioned was not the only other vampire in their household. Could it be another family like the Dellarosas? Antoni couldn’t recall any guests from Palermo ever visiting the estate.

They continued through dark-tiled halls and elaborate corridors until they reached a pair of dark wood doors. There, Arden stopped him. “Wait here for a moment and I’ll see whether she’s available.” He disappeared into the room beyond, leaving Antoni alone in nervous silence. Although Arden seemed quite sure that he was welcome, Antoni himself had doubts. Perhaps he was afraid to get his hopes up only to be rejected and disappointed. Hoping to make a good impression, he used what little energy he had to clean himself up with a bit of magic. He could at least have some dignity as he was asking for a stranger’s charity.

When finally Arden emerged from the room, he was still smiling, which was encouraging. “Go ahead,” he said, holding the door open and gesturing for Antoni to enter. “Don’t worry; she doesn’t bite.”

With a weak smile of his own, Antoni muttered his thanks and entered the room. It turned out to be an office whose walls were lined with full bookshelves, the windows covered—as expected—with thick velvet drapes. A lavish mahogany writing desk occupied the center of the room, and behind it sat a woman with angular features, brown skin, and long, sleek black hair. Her blood smelled very old and very distinct, comparable even to his father’s. Certainly a Progenitor if not one of the First. When she glanced up from whatever work was in front of her, her heavily-lined eyes glinted yellow in the room’s low lighting.

“Don’t be shy. Come inside,” she said, setting aside her pen and folding her hands on the desktop. Her voice was low and breathy, her Italian quite clear despite being marked with a similar accent to Arden’s. “And aren’t you a pretty thing? It’s not often I receive so unique a guest. Arden tells me you’re new to our fair city.”

“Yes, signora. I arrived by accident this evening.”

“By accident?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “How is that?”

“I’ve been traveling for some time without much guidance,” Antoni explained. “I left my home in Catania days ago and have been wandering across Sicily since then.”

“I see.” The previously amiable look in the signora’s eyes had disappeared, turning her gaze hard and cold. “And if you come from Catania, am I right to assume you belong to the Dellarosas?”

Biting back his initial ‘yes,’ Antoni instead answered, “I did. I’m…not welcome among them anymore.”

“I’m sure.” When she rose smoothly to her feet, his hostess revealed herself to be much taller than expected, a slender but statuesque figure with broad shoulders and distrustful eyes. “I supposed that Enrico had finally given up on us after his last attempt failed, but it seems I was mistaken; now he’s sent you to exploit my better nature.”

“What? No!” Antoni argued quickly. “He didn’t send me at all.”

“Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise me,” she went on, stepping around the side of her desk. “Betrayal is all you people can be relied upon for. Did you not come here intending to meet me?”

“No, no, I swear.” He backed away, confused and frightened, as she made her way toward him. “Forgive me, signora, but I don’t even know who you are!”

“Of course, where are my manners? My name is Venn Hassan. Palermo operates under my authority and my protection.” As Antoni stumbled toward the doors, she locked them with a gesture of one hand. “And you should know I don’t take kindly to intruders who would threaten it. Perhaps Enrico thinks I’ll take pity on you if you appear lost and trembling on my doorstep, but my heart isn’t so soft as he might imagine.”

“Please, you’re misunderstanding,” Antoni insisted, stiffening as his back met the door behind him. “Enrico is my father, but I have no more love for him than you do. I can promise you, I’m not here on his behalf.”

The signora—Venn, she’d called herself—paused for a moment, the anger in her expression dissolving into mild surprise. “You’re his child.”

“Yes.”

“And I suppose,” she began reluctantly, “that means Lauretta is your mother.” Antoni nodded, and she let out a dry laugh. “Of course she is. The gods must be toying with me.”

“How do you know them?” he ventured at length. “My parents.” Venn glanced down at him in silent consideration for a moment before walking away to seat herself on a plush loveseat against the wall.

“Sit with me, my pretty,” she said, gesturing to the spot beside her. Though still wary, Antoni did as he was asked, careful not to sit on her skirts. “Now, I’d like you to tell me clearly how you came to be here tonight. I advise you not to lie to me; I haven’t yet decided what to do with you, but I expect your answer will help.”

 _No pressure, then._ Still, what point would there be in lying? He had little to hide. So he told her everything, starting from the point when his father had sent him away. He didn’t explain why, and mercifully, she didn’t ask. He went on to detail the difficulty of his travels, how weary and hopeless he’d become—until Arden’s invitation to her manor, of course. Reliving the past few days even in summary left him exhausted, but by the time he finished, Venn seemed satisfied that he wasn’t there with any nefarious sabotage plans (though she did seem rather frustrated by it, as if she’d been hoping that he was hiding something).

“I don’t much care to see a young person in need without offering what help I can. Call it maternal instinct.” She chuckled at that as she got up and crossed to the wall where a brass rotary handle was mounted. Turning the handle once, she went on, “I’ll allow you to stay for the moment, if you like. At least until you’re more stable and can decide where to go for yourself. For tonight, I’m certain you could use some time to rest, and I doubt you’d say no to a bath.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Antoni confessed with a dreamy sigh, and Venn’s lips quirked into a genuine smile for the first time since he’d arrived.

“Good. I’ve no doubt Lauretta would have a fit if she learned I’d sent one of her children out to fend for himself in the wild—exiled or not.”

How his mother knew this woman, Antoni couldn’t imagine, as she’d never mentioned having any contacts in Palermo before. Still, as much as Venn seemed to hate his father, her affection toward his mother was clearly stronger.

“Thank you,” he ventured, and she responded with a tight smile as she seated herself at her desk again.

“Just don’t get too comfortable, my pretty.”

There was a knock at the door, and she gestured to unlock it, allowing Arden to enter again. “You called?”

“Yes, habiibii. Antoni will be staying as my guest for the moment. Please escort him to a room in the guest wing, and have a bath drawn as well. I want him kept safe and comfortable; no one is to interfere with him or antagonize him. I trust you’ll relay that to the others.”

“Of course.” With a smug but playful look that seemed to say ‘I told you so,’ he turned to Antoni and asked, “Shall we?” With one last glance at the lady of the house, Antoni got up to follow him, still trying to convince himself that this was real and he was safe.

As they made their way through the hall outside the office, they passed another woman dressed in a gorgeous layered robe of patterned silk. Her surprising orange hair was piled into an elegant bun atop her head, her upturned eyes cold as ice as she watched Antoni pass. Still, she didn’t speak, simply making a “hmph” sound and strutting past them on stockinged feet toward the office. Curiously, her blood was neither human nor vampiric but something else entirely.

“Don’t mind her,” Arden said, likely sensing Antoni’s confusion as to what he’d done wrong. “She always takes it as a personal insult when Venn takes on a new charge.”

 _Is that what I am?_ Better that than an enemy, he supposed.

As instructed, Arden led him to the East wing of the manor and down to the first floor, where a quiet guest corridor stood bathed in moonlight. Antoni could only assume the curtains would be closed before sunrise. Opening one of several identical dark-stained doors, the brunet gestured for Antoni to enter, so he did. He was hardly in a position to protest any part of this. The room was surprisingly well-furnished for guest quarters, with a cozy four-post bed and a plush seating area featuring still more very full bookshelves.

Although they could see well enough in the dark, Arden still lit the candles scattered about the room, somehow making the space feel warmer and more inviting. “I’ll have a maid see to your bath, and they’ll let you know when it’s ready,” he said, lingering in the doorway while Antoni wandered into the room. “If there’s anything else you need, let them know, and they’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you. And please give my thanks to the signora as well,” Antoni answered, only hoping his sincere gratitude came across clearly. Once he was alone, he sank to sit on the edge of the bed, then dropped back against it and took a slow, deep breath. He could’ve cried from how good it felt to finally have downy blankets beneath him again. He’d hardly had more than an hour or two of sleep for the past several days, which made it impossible for his body to heal as quickly as usual—but he felt quite sure that this would be the best day of sleep he’d had in years. As long as it wasn’t disrupted by any unwanted dreams…


	5. Kinship in Unlikely Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [@Murosaki_Iro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murosaki_Iro/) for letting me include their OC Lois in Venn's household! 😊

When Antoni woke the following evening, much later than was typical for him, a maid appeared at his door soon after to deliver his freshly-washed clothes. He’d been a bit apprehensive about handing them off and sleeping in a borrowed gown—largely because the last thing he wanted was to appear before Venn in a dress—but the woman attending him had assured him they would be returned soon, and he was too tired to argue for long.

“Here you are, signorino,” she said as she handed off the stack of carefully folded clothing. She was human, perhaps ten years older than him, with golden brown hair in a neat plait down her back. When she’d attended him before his bath, she introduced herself as Gail. “The mistress would like you to join her for a meal. When you’re ready, please call me”—she gestured to a handle mounted on the wall by the bed, much like the one in Venn’s office—“and I’ll escort you to the dining hall.”

“I will. Thank you.” He wasn’t sure he’d ever thanked his own servants as much as he thanked Venn’s, but somehow their services seemed so much more precious now. Once he was alone, he laid his clothes out on the bed to dress, relieved to find that his binding wraps were still among them. Although it had been a relief to go without them for a few hours, the pressure made him feel more stable in some ways. It was remarkable what fresh clothes and a bath could do for his self-esteem; despite his nerves, he even dared to look forward to where this day might go.

When he rang, Gail surprised him by showing up at his door only moments later. It made him feel a bit childish, needing to be led everywhere by someone who know the manor’s layout, but it couldn’t be helped, at least for the moment. The maid led him to a large dining hall with vaulted ceilings and not one but two chandeliers. The entire manor, he’d noticed, was decadent from floor to ceiling, telling of an owner with expensive tastes. As expected, Venn was seated at the head of the long dining table, with that orange-haired woman from before at her left and an empty chair on her right. Surprisingly, Arden was seated at the table as well, along with a somewhat older man Antoni hadn’t yet been introduced to.

When the signora caught sight of him, she beckoned Antoni closer and gestured to the chair on her right. “Good evening, my pretty. Come, have a seat. Thank you, Gail, that will be all for now.” The maid swept a quick curtsey before leaving the room, and Antoni was suddenly aware that all eyes were now on him.

Hurrying to accept the seat he’d been offered, he muttered, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“Not at all. We’re just finishing our tea,” his hostess answered, lifting an appropriately ornate teacup to her lips. The woman at her side cleared her throat loudly, and Antoni could’ve sworn he saw Venn roll her eyes as she went on, “The _vision_ to my left is Momoka, my _beloved_ consort, the stars in my sky, the beat of my heart—” By this point, she was gazing pointedly at the other woman, smirking as if she had a great many of these epithets in mind and could list them without end.

“Enough,” Momoka huffed, waving her aside, acting unbothered despite the flush coloring her olive cheeks.

“And our young guest,” Venn concluded, “is Antoni Dellarosa.”

“My pleasure, signora,” he said with a smile that Momoka did not return.

“A Dellarosa in our home,” she said instead, staring him down with unveiled disdain. She spoke like a native Italian but hardly looked like one. “How you can allow this, after all that man has done—”

“It’s not for his father’s sake that I’m allowing Antoni to stay, but for his own and for his mother’s,” Venn answered, unperturbed by her criticism.

“They’re all the same to my mind.”

Frowning, starting to take exception to her unwarranted insults, Antoni piped up, “I may come from the Dellarosa household, but I am nothing like Enrico. Perhaps you should wait to learn something more than my name before you start making assumptions.”

Momoka’s eyebrows raised, and she smiled slightly at his frustration. “Ah, so the little bat has teeth after all. I suppose if I must suffer your presence, I’ll be the one to determine whether you’re different from the rest of your ilk or not.”

“While we’re making introductions,” said the vampire sitting opposite Arden, surveying Antoni with visible interest, “my name is Lois. I understand you’ve met my brat of a younger brother already.” Arden stuck his tongue out, and now that Antoni thought of it, there was a distinct family resemblance between them: their skin was a similar shade of cool brown, their features similarly round, and even their smiles looked alike. Lois wore small spectacles and a sharply-tailored suit, his long hair pulled back from his face in a distinctly businesslike fashion. It seemed there wasn’t a single uninteresting figure to be found within this household.

Soon enough, a host of other servants swept into the room, each bearing a covered plate or bowl, which they set before each person at the table. When the cloches were lifted off, the room was filled with a wide array of mouth-watering scents, some familiar, some foreign, most notably onion and garlic. Antoni quickly noticed that rather than each meal being identical, there were several different dishes presented all at once.

“I didn’t know your preference, so I asked the cooks for something safe,” Venn said, noticing his wide eyes and nodding at the plate of pasta puttanesca he’d been served. She and Lois both had some sort of bean dish with an unusual nutty aroma, while Arden’s plate bore eggs poached in tomato sauce. Momoka had not one, not two, but three separate plates with various small portions on them. “If you have a particular request, you can tell Gail, and she’ll see that the cooks are informed.”

“No, this is perfect,” Antoni assured her, only growing more interested to learn the customs of another ‘family.’ As they started to eat, another maid moved around the table to fill each person’s waiting glass with red wine (with the notable exception of Momoka). Arden’s eyes lit up, and he snatched up his glass to drink from it greedily, letting out a low hum of delight. It wasn’t unusual for wine to be served with meals, of course, but the way he drank, he seemed in danger of it quickly going to his head. Curious as to whether it could really be that good, Antoni reached for his own glass to try it—and went rigid at the unexpected notes of salt and iron. Struggling not to choke as he swallowed, he finally croaked, “Blood? In the wine?”

“It’s easier to cope with it being room temperature this way,” Venn explained. “Less efficient, but less of a bother as well. I take it it’s not your cup of tea, so to speak?”

“I think I was just surprised,” he answered apologetically and took another small sip before replacing his glass on the table and not touching it again. The wine was nice in and of itself, but he was quickly coming to realize that without the rush it used to give him, drinking blood was rather an unpleasant experience. It was too thick, too filling, and the metallic taste made him shudder. Besides, he was still satisfied for the moment from his meal with Brio, so there was no need to force himself.

This meal turned out to be a much more informal experience than the ones he’d had with his own family. There was plenty of conversation—banter, one might even call it—and despite clearly being the one in charge of the household, Venn didn’t bother to demand absolute respect from the others. She smiled patiently as Arden and Lois teased her for her compulsive charity toward young people in distress, then reminded them both that if not for that ‘compulsion,’ her household would be much smaller and her days less interesting.

As they finished eating, she turned to Antoni and suggested, “Join me in my study, won’t you? I’ve some work to do, but I’d like us to get better acquainted afterward.”

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt your work,” he said, holding back the fact that he wanted some time to explore the grounds on his own.

“Oh no, caro, I insist.” Her tone brooked no argument, the look in her eyes hardening slightly. “I’d like to keep an eye on you for the moment. We wouldn’t want any of the household’s nosier members disturbing you.” He didn’t believe that last bit for a moment, but as a guest in her home, he had little right to argue. The others all went off to their own pastimes—though Momoka stole another dirty look in his direction before leaving—and Antoni followed Venn back to her study, observing as much of the house as he could while they walked.

“May I ask what sort of business you do?”

“Whatever sort takes my interest. Primarily, I govern Palermo and direct a great deal of its trade, both internal and external,” Venn answered as she walked, hands folded at her back, the very picture of regality. Most of the so-called nobility he’d met through his family didn’t possess half her poise or grace.

“You mentioned that before. And the humans don’t argue?”

“Why should they? They trust that I see to their best interests as I see to my own. If ever they do have concerns, I’m usually able to assuage them through an in-person audience.”

“Meaning you hypnotize them?” Antoni concluded, and she shot him a reproachful look.

“I most certainly do not. If one simply knows how to talk to people, there’s no need to waste magic on something so mundane.” Pushing open both doors to her office, she gestured to the bookshelves around the room and suggested, “You’re welcome to find something to keep yourself occupied while I work. I shouldn’t be long.”

He couldn’t help but wonder what she’d meant about them getting to know one another better, but part of him assumed it would be another interrogation. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do at the moment. So while she sat at her desk, he did as she said and started to wander the room, looking over the bookshelves for anything that might interest him—or perhaps to learn more about his hostess.

Several minutes passed in silence before Venn spoke again. “It may be none of my business,” she began casually as he was perusing her collection, “but have you considered adding a set of stays to your ensemble?”

Antoni blinked in confusion, a frown starting to tug at his lips. Stays were a women’s garment, meant to accentuate and display their _feminine_ shape. Why on Earth would he want that? “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Underneath your clothing, of course. To improve your…” She raised her head to look him up and down. “Posture.” He could feel heat rising in his chest and in his cheeks at what she was implying. It didn’t seem appropriate for her to bring the subject up at all, considering how little they knew each other, and her nonchalant tone only bothered him more. As if this were something he should be comfortable openly discussing with just anyone.

“You’re right. That _is_ none of your business,” he answered coolly, crossing his arms over his chest to hide behind them.

Venn seemed confused by his response and tilted her head to one side. “I don’t mean to insult you. I only thought you might—”

“I’d prefer not to talk about it. It’s difficult for me to accept suggestions of that sort from someone who already fits into her own body so well,” he grumbled.

“Oh, do I?” She leaned forward against the desktop and let her chin rest in her hand, watching him with a mix of sympathy and amusement. Even worse. “That’s kind of you to say, my pretty. But how do you suppose I came to be this way?”

“I doubt it was by taking advice from people who hardly knew anything about you,” he answered, and she laughed.

“You certainly don’t lack for spirit. I’m surprised Lauretta could have had a son so outspoken.” But her mirth quickly faded as she continued, “Though I’m unfortunately not surprised she discouraged you from being honest about who you are. She did the same to me.”

The room was silent for a moment as Antoni processed those words and the implications behind them. “You’re—” Well, he wasn’t really sure what to call it. “—like me?”

“In at least one way, yes. I’ll admit my experience hasn’t been exactly the same as yours, but suffice to say I know what it is to be seen as something you’re not.”

His cheeks burned hotter still as he realized how foolish it was for him to presume one way or another, as if there were any way he could’ve known. Part of his mind was confused by the concept, as he couldn’t imagine anyone _wanting_ to be seen as a woman—but of course, that logic was flawed. Venn didn’t want to be a woman any more than he wanted to be a man. It simply was.

But there was something else she’d said that he still didn’t understand. “And my mother knew?”

With a weary sigh, Venn agreed, “She knew, but she was hardly supportive. She preferred the path of least resistance rather than the one that best suited her…as I recall.”

Coming over to kneel beside her desk, Antoni looked up into her eyes in earnest and begged, “Tell me how you know her. Please. She’s never mentioned anything about you.” _All this time, she knew someone else who felt the same as I do, and she never thought to tell me?_ This went beyond ‘not supportive’ and firmly into the realm of betrayal.

After a few seconds of stoic silence, staring down at him as if unsure he was trustworthy, Venn let out a sigh and motioned for him to take one of the velvet-backed chairs in front of the desk. He did, pulling it close and leaning against the desktop in bright-eyed anticipation.

“Some two hundred years ago,” his hostess began, “my household relocated from Egypt to Sicily—Syracuse, to be precise. At the time, that only included Lois, Arden, and myself. I presume you know your mother’s family comes from Syracuse?”

Antoni nodded silently. His maternal relatives had visited them occasionally, but they were hardly close. All he really knew was that they were of a similar social standing to the Dellarosas.

“While we were there, I found myself doing business with them, and Lauretta made a point of introducing herself. She was fascinated to be meeting someone whose background so differed from her own and wanted to know everything I could tell her about my homeland. Always eager to learn something new.” For a moment, Venn’s dispassionate expression slipped, and the slightest smile curved her lips, but she quickly cleared her throat and went on, “We became friends on those grounds. She taught me what she knew of vampiric history in Europe, as I hadn’t been exposed to it until that point. I shared about my own past and what I’d learned over the years. We discussed my travels, and she expressed an interest in seeing the world herself. Her family didn’t much care for that idea, of course. Very traditional, those people.”

“I never even knew it was something she wanted,” Antoni mused, wondering if he knew much of anything real about his mother.

“Yes, well, Enrico likely discouraged it as well.” The distaste in Venn’s voice as she talked about him was palpable.

“Did you know him too?”

“Only insofar as he was involved in Lauretta’s life. He came to Syracuse for the express purpose of asking for her hand, without ever having met her or spoken to her before. All he knew was that she was the oldest daughter of a wealthy Progenitor family, and apparently, that was all he needed to know. Naturally, her family wasn’t eager to refuse the great Enrico Dellarosa anything he asked. The decision was more or less made for her.”

“Really?” Some silly, naïve part of Antoni’s mind had always assumed—in the absence of any other explanation—that his parents were in love, that their marriage of convenience was somehow also personally fulfilling. But now, having learned more about their personalities, he realized that was foolish.

“I’m afraid so. She and I exchanged the occasional letter after her move to Catania, but only rarely.” With a wry smile, his hostess explained, “Your father has never been any more fond of me than I am of him. Heaven forbid anyone encourage his wife to pursue her interest in travel or expand on her education. Far more difficult to keep her in line that way.”

“Does he know? About you being, er, different?”

“I’m sure he does now. At the time, I was…still gathering my courage to change the way I presented myself. That was a decision I made upon coming to Palermo.” She seemed a bit embarrassed as she explained, “It took me quite some time to understand myself well enough to know something needed to change. I envy you that in some ways. How old are you?”

“Thirty in February.”

Venn blinked, silent for a split-second too long before continuing, “So young, and not only do you know who you are, but you have the courage to express it without apology. That’s something to be respected, as I see it.” Antoni grinned bashfully and lowered his head. This was the first time he’d ever been praised on this particular aspect of his personality, but he couldn’t say it bothered him. In fact, it was refreshing in a way. Even if his own family couldn’t or wouldn’t see him for who he was, it was nice to think that someone else might.

“Will you tell me more about the traveling you’ve done?” he prompted, making himself comfortable there at the edge of Venn’s desk. “I’d never even left Catania until recently, so I’d love to hear more about the rest of the world. How far have you ventured from Sicily? Did you meet Momoka while you were away? Where did she—”

“One question at a time, habiibii,” Venn cut in, raising both hands to slow him down. Nevertheless, she was smiling, a rather gentler smile than he would’ve expected. “Let me finish with the work I have here, and I’ll be happy to share whatever you’d like to know.” Maybe it wasn’t the most practical priority to have, but after the past week of misery, he was eager to cling to whatever surprising happiness he could find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who can guess what the Egypt Trio were eating without looking it up gets a digital gold star. 🌟 In other news, I solemnly swear that jerk from chapter one is going to make an actual appearance again _very_ soon. 💖


	6. His Mother's Son

The following few evenings passed in a similar fashion; Antoni would get up, join the others for a meal, exchange a few catty remarks with Momoka and gather what he could about the ‘family’s’ relationships, then accompany Venn to her study to read while she worked. Once she finished whatever business she had for the night, she suffered herself to be bombarded with his many questions and answered them all patiently. She was free enough with information about herself but reluctant to tell him anything about the others, instead advising him to ask them personally. Unfortunately, none of them was as forthcoming as the signora herself.

Momoka all but outright rejected his every attempt at conversation, stating plainly that her life was none of his business. Lois was similarly evasive (though more politely so) and quickly changed the subject when Antoni’s probing ventured too far. Although Arden agreed to answer whatever questions Antoni had, he did so in a way that didn’t actually communicate much, most often with a grin and a playful quip.

Nevertheless, Antoni learned bits and pieces about them simply by being in their presence. Arden, for example, had a habit of bringing a new human home to the manor each night, and Antoni didn’t have to wonder what for. Lois, on the other hand, was quite the opposite and seemed to subsist entirely on the blood/wine mixture the household favored; Antoni never once saw him with a victim of his own. He had yet to figure out exactly what Momoka was, but he would have sworn that when she passed him in the lamplight, her shadow had the shape of something four-legged with too many tails. He had no end of questions about the entire lot of them.

Venn saw to it that he was not only cared for but arguably pampered, having the staff provide hot baths whenever he wanted them, the cooks learn his favorite meals, and her own seamstress assemble several new, beautifully tailored ensembles for him. (As it turned out, wearing stays beneath his shirts didn’t make his figure any more feminine and, in fact, served to bind his chest much more effectively than his old wraps. He resolved at that point to take any advice Venn offered more seriously.) It was clear that Momoka was unbearably jealous of the attention Venn paid him, and even Antoni himself didn’t understand why she was being so kind—though he didn’t dare object; he was becoming comfortable in the Hassan household much more quickly than expected.

On his seventh night there, he woke with cravings again and was instantly terrified of what they meant. Considering what had happened the last time, he was hardly eager to seek what he needed. But then, wouldn’t it be worse to wait until the cravings were so bad that he couldn’t control himself? He fought with himself for so long he wound up missing his regular meal with the others entirely. When Venn herself appeared at his door to check on him, she immediately noticed the change in his demeanor.

“You don’t look well, habiibii,” she noted, brushing the back of her hand across his forehead as if to check for a fever. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” he lied with what he hoped was a convincing smile. Judging by the suspicion in Venn’s eyes, it was not. She had likely seen cravings of this sort too many times to not recognize them.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you feed even once since you arrived,” she noted. “Why is that? It’s been days; I can only imagine you must be starving.”

“I’m—”

She narrowed her eyes, and he recalled her earlier warning about not lying to her. Antoni hesitated, afraid of how she might react to learning about his condition, but quickly realized how wrong it would be to keep a secret so important. After all she’d done for him of late, he supposed the truth was the least she deserved. Even if it meant she might send him away just as Enrico had.

With a weary sigh, he conceded and explained the circumstances, from that _bastard_ visiting on the night of the gala to poor Brio’s unfortunate demise. When he mentioned Alastor’s name, Venn’s eyebrows raised, but otherwise she listened without response until he had finished with the conclusion that his cravings were now back and he wasn’t sure what to do for them.

“The answer seems self-evident,” his hostess responded, calm as ever. “If what you need is vampiric blood, there’s plenty to be found here.”

Antoni blinked, surprised again by her nonchalance regarding what most considered a mortal sin. “That’s it? You aren’t bothered at all?”

“Why should I be? If you were to ask me, personally, to donate, I would have to decline, but I’m sure there are others who feel differently. Wait here and I’ll send someone,” she said, turning on her heel to start down the hall without giving him the opportunity to argue. But then, what could he have said? What choice did he have but to be grateful that her response wasn’t the same as Enrico’s? He did have to wonder, however, at what point her patience and understanding would run dry.

Perhaps fifteen minutes later, there was a rhythmic knock at his door, and he opened it to find none other than Arden waiting with his usual mischievous smile. “Buonasera,” he giggled. “Venn tells me you’re in need of a dinner date. Will I suffice?”

“You don’t mind?” Somehow, asking such a concession of one of the house’s owners seemed much bolder than asking a servant. He would’ve expected any Progenitor to be rather more stingy with their blood.

“Not at all. Believe it or not, it’s something I’ve never done before, and I’m always interested in a new experience. May I come in?”

“Of course.” Antoni stepped back to allow his guest inside and closed the door behind him, hesitating to jump into anything without explicit permission.

“Well?” Arden’s midnight curls were just long enough that he had to push them back to expose his throat. “What are you waiting for?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this alone,” Antoni answered, fidgeting nervously, trying to look anywhere but at the smooth, dark skin of Arden’s neck. Even the smell of his blood already had Antoni’s mouth watering. “The last time I tried this, I drank one of my family’s servants dry. I wouldn’t want to do something similar to you by accident.”

Arden tossed his head back and laughed at the suggestion. “That is _adorable_ , caro. But please don’t worry.” In a flash, before Antoni could even register the movement, Arden pinned him back against the door behind him, hands grasping tight at Antoni’s wrists, his strength much more impressive than one would’ve expected by looking at his small frame. His golden eyes gleamed in the candlelight as he purred, “I’m perfectly capable of stopping you if I need to. Now, don’t be shy.” He pulled Antoni’s hands around his waist, grinning up at him expectantly.

Well, if he’d been looking for explicit permission, there it was. Wetting his lips, he drew his willing victim closer so their chests pressed tight together, then leaned down and put his lips to the brunet’s throat. He shivered at the feeling of Arden’s pulse against his lips and bit down almost without thought, fascinated to find that Arden’s taste was different from Alastor’s or Brio’s. With human blood, the differences in taste between individuals were very subtle, but as Antoni knew well, vampires didn’t typically bother with subtlety.

The brunet growled softly in his ear, grasping tighter at his arms, but didn’t protest or try to stop him, quickly losing his breath until his panting forcibly reminded Antoni of how sensual an experience it was to feed like this. He only came back to his senses when Arden shoved him back against the door by his shoulders, shocking him out of his bloodlust and back into the moment.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m the one sharing with you,” the brunet chuckled, still keeping him firmly pinned in place. “You certainly are greedy, bello.”

Recalling Alastor telling him the same on their first encounter, Antoni flushed with embarrassment—and perhaps something else—and looked away. “Sorry. I don’t know why I get so lost in it; it’s never been that good with a human.”

“Hmm, are we still talking about feeding?” Arden teased, doing nothing for Antoni’s blushing. And the fact that his body was practically on fire already didn’t make comments of that sort any easier to deal with. “Would you like to know a secret, Tonino? I’ve been hoping to see that look on your face since the first night I brought you home.”

As the words registered in Antoni’s mind, he stole a glance at Arden and found him smirking wickedly. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’m sure you know very well the effect you have on men. I daresay you even enjoy it. Now, before I go: is there anything else I can help you with?” He practically radiated desire as he carefully wiped a smear of blood from the corner of the blond’s mouth and then licked it off his thumb.

It now occurred to Antoni that he’d gone without sex since before he’d met Alastor. Weeks! He hardly ever had a dry spell that long, and his body was certainly feeling it. “Anything…?” he asked.

“Anything at all,” Arden agreed with a grin, sliding his hands slowly around Antoni’s slim waist. “Just say the word.”

In fact, he didn’t have to say much at all; his actions were encouragement enough, and Arden was happy to read between the lines. Despite not being Antoni’s usual ‘type,’ he still served quite well—almost shockingly so—to meet every need and desire he had. There was something distant in his demeanor, like Antoni was a new toy and their being together just the latest game to be played. Not an uncommon attitude for immortals, and it wasn’t as if Antoni was looking for anything deeply meaningful from the experience. Nevertheless, it provided exactly the sort of satisfaction he needed, the sort that made his cravings abate instantaneously. And before leaving the room, Arden mentioned that should Antoni have this ‘problem’ again in the future, he would be glad to lend a hand.

— — —

If Venn had mentioned his affliction to any of the house’s other residents, they didn’t react to it. It still struck Antoni as odd that she had taken the news so calmly. Furthermore, she seemed to know a bit about the condition herself.

“It’s all secondhand, mind you,” she explained on another evening in her study, searching through her bookshelves with singular purpose. “But I assume you’d like to know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“What I was forced into,” Antoni corrected. “That testa di cazzo didn’t warn me of what would happen before I agreed to his ‘gift.’”

“Language, my pretty,” Venn chided, though she seemed more amused than reproachful. Having evidently found the book she’d been searching for, she took it from the shelf and brought it back to seat herself in the armchair at his side. “You have some very strong feelings about him, hm? I understand he has that effect on people.”

“After what he did to me? Of course I have strong feelings!” After so long stewing about it internally, it was nice to finally be able to express his anger toward Alastor aloud. “But what do you mean, you understand? Do you know him?”

“You could say that. It’s been decades since we’ve crossed paths, but I would hardly say we’re strangers.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

As she had when he’d asked about the other members of her household, his hostess frowned slightly and looked away. “Little you don’t already know, I’m afraid. He keeps much of his past to himself,” she explained, hands folded in her lap. “I know that he was human once and was turned by one of the First of our kind. I know he served his sire for a great many years but is now independent. And I know that what he did to you tracks with the rest of his personality. He always has been an instigator.”

“That’s putting it kindly,” Antoni scoffed.

“And quite polarizing as well. Regardless, he’s only one of the many vampires I’ve known with such a…particular diet, shall we say.” Holding up the book she’d sought out, she went on, “This is the closest I have to an objective study on the matter, and while it’s not at all comprehensive, I believe it should still be informative.”

The volume was fairly unassuming: a slim, age-worn leather-bound journal, its cover dyed so deep blue as to be nearly black. He reached to take it from her, but she withheld it for the moment. “I’m afraid it’s written in Arabic, however. I’ll be happy to translate it for you—”

“No need,” he answered smugly, his hand still outstretched. “I can read it.”

Venn raised an eyebrow. “Can you?”

“Well, not aloud, but I can still understand it.” Some part of him was oddly pleased to have surprised her for once, as it seemed quite a feat to accomplish. “It’s a talent I’ve had since I was a child. It works for spoken language as well.”

“How interesting,” Venn answered thoughtfully as she handed him the book.

“Don’t tell me this is a kind of magic you’ve never heard of, signora,” he teased. “I was starting to think there was nothing you didn’t know something about.”

She shook her head, smiling patiently. “The supernatural takes a great many forms, habiibii; I wouldn’t begin to claim that I’m versed in all of them. That said, your particular talent is one I’m quite familiar with. I understand it’s a gift many of the First possessed and passed on to a lucky few of their descendants.”

“I didn’t inherit it from Enrico, if that’s what you’re suggesting. If he could’ve understood the sort of thing Molly and I said about him in French, I’m sure he would’ve told us.”

“Just as well; it would’ve been wasted on him,” Venn agreed with a smirk. Deriding Enrico was just one of the many points on which the two of them had bonded already. “In the hands of a scholar, however, one who seeks to learn from the records and experiences of others—”

“Like my mother?” Antoni concluded. If it was a talent of hers, that explained why it was present in him, and they’d already talked many times about her desire to learn all she could.

Venn’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes drifted down to the book in his hands. “Yes.” She became distant and pensive this way quite often when the subject of his mother came up, and Antoni had gathered enough in their conversations to realize she had some _very strong feelings_ of her own. Not that it was any of his business, but he did still wonder how much of their relationship she had neglected to mention. Getting up to busy herself with something at her desk, she hastily went on, “Ahem. Well, read it if you like, and let me know if you have questions. I’m afraid I have some business that should occupy me for the rest of the night, so if you’ll excuse me…”

She motioned toward the door, and Antoni couldn’t help feeling he was being dismissed, as if he’d done something wrong. And strangely, considering how many times he’d experienced something similar at the hands of his own flesh and blood, he found the gesture unexpectedly hurtful.

Still, he didn’t argue, taking the book she’d lent him to the drawing room and settling onto the rug by the fireplace to read. Carefully prying the yellowed pages open, he found that the contents were structured as a journal, or perhaps research notes, including dates and almost clinical medical observations. The author was apparently conducting research on the condition Antoni and Alastor shared, and he had a collection of ‘subjects’ he had turned in order to take note of the various ways in which they reacted to the affliction.

Antoni’s stomach turned as he realized what he was looking at: experiments on living creatures, unethical at best, all in the name of better understanding the science of vampiric cannibalism. He shuddered to think of how Venn had come to possess this information, and some part of him felt miserably guilty for benefiting from the mistreatment of others…but then, his refusing to read the study wouldn’t change what was already done. Despite his misgivings, he read on.

The journal’s initial observations were similar to what he’d already seen in himself: the experience of feeding on vampiric blood was euphoric and satisfied one’s hunger for days or even weeks thereafter, but that period was followed by powerful cravings for more. To his surprise, however, it was said that vampiric blood did less to nourish one’s body than blood from a human, meaning one needed to drink much more from a vampire in order to sustain themselves. Maybe that was the reason he got so ‘greedy’ when he fed on others of his kind.

The notes went on to explain that human blood would still sate a cannibalistic vampire’s physical needs, but—as Antoni himself had ascertained—it did nothing for the cravings. The experiments’ overseer had isolated a single subject from all other vampires and only given them access to human blood in order to see what effect the cravings would have if left unchecked. While the subject’s body was still perfectly healthy, her mental health was a different matter. The observations regarding her ended roughly six months into the study, at which point the author had determined she’d lost her mind and become a danger to herself and everyone around her.

 _Unfortunate_ , the notes read. _And she was always so sure of her resilience._

“May I join you?” Lois’s voice shocked Antoni out of his reading, and he looked up to find the household’s most reserved member entering the drawing room with a much thicker and more official-looking tome in his hands.

“Of course. I don’t think I have much right to keep any of these rooms to myself.”

Lois smiled and took a seat on the chaise to Antoni’s right to open his own book. When his eyes fell on the journal in Antoni’s hands, however, they narrowed, and his smile faded. “Did Venn give you that?”

“Yes. Have you read it?”

“I have, once or twice since I concluded my observations. The subject interested me for some time, but lately, I’ve moved on to more practically useful forms of medicine.” He said all this casually, turning his eyes toward his own reading as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“You wrote this?” Antoni squeaked, trying to decide how he felt about the revelation. It was difficult to reconcile these cold, unfeeling notes with the generally polite and personable vampire he’d come to know.

“Yes, centuries ago, though it was one of the first large-scale studies I conducted and therefore a bit…sloppy,” Lois explained, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Why? Does that surprise you?”

Maybe it shouldn’t have. He knew already that Lois practiced medicine and provided his services as a doctor to the people of Palermo in exchange for the occasional ‘donation’ of blood. But this study of his was a very different science and far less arguably beneficial.

“It is sort of shocking,” Antoni admitted. “If these people were innocent—”

Lois cut him off with a pleasant laugh. “First, to be clear: there is no such thing as an ‘innocent’ vampire. We feed on the lifeforce of mortals to sustain ourselves; we’re descendants of the Devil and his consort; sin and depravity are ingrained in our nature.” Adjusting his glasses and crossing one leg over the other, he continued, “But it’s true I wouldn’t have subjected anyone to that torment who hadn’t volunteered for it or deserved it in some way.”

Well, that was more than could be said for Alastor. Though he did wonder what qualified a person to deserve this sort of treatment, Antoni supposed it was better to leave well enough alone and believe that Lois’s judgment was sound. So, hoping to take advantage of Lois’s unusually forthcoming mood, he decided to try his luck at a different line of questioning.

“You said this”—he held up the journal—“happened centuries ago. Were you with Venn at the time?”

“In a manner of speaking. We have been for the better part of a millennium.”

“Then you know her better than most.”

“Better than she’d like to admit,” Lois chuckled. “Why?”

“Do you know why she reacts the way she does when we talk about my mother?”

Lois stiffened in his seat, and for the first time, Antoni saw a hint of nervous discomfort on his face. “Yes,” he answered tersely.

With a frustrated huff, the blond insisted, “Will you tell me?”

“No. It isn’t my story to tell. If you want to know, you should ask Venn herself.”

“Lois,” Antoni whined, resorting to his most tried-and-true method of getting what he wanted from men. Getting up to sit on the chaise next to Lois, he put on his best pout and leaned in a bit closer. “I must have asked her fifty times by now, but she never tells me the full story. I need to hear it from someone else who saw what went on between them. You’re the only one in the house I trust not to toy with me.”

The older vampire wet his lips, still rigid in his seat, refusing to look at Antoni. When he finally spoke, the words came out quickly and quietly. “Lauretta tried to betray us to Enrico.”

“What? What does that mean?” Antoni asked, edging closer not as a form of manipulation but out of irresistible curiosity. Nevertheless, Lois moved away from him again before he answered.

“As I’m sure you know, she and Venn fell out of touch not long after she married Enrico and relocated to Catania. Some fifty years after that point, Lauretta appeared here without warning, claiming she wanted to ‘reconnect.’” He rolled his eyes, visibly disgusted despite his objective retelling. “Naturally, none of us believed that for a moment. Enrico had been trying for years to involve himself in Palermo’s commerce—the commerce _our_ household built. As he saw it, every other vampire in Sicily, if not in all of Europe, owed his family homage. He hated being excluded from our success.”

Yes, that did sound very much like Enrico. Somehow, Antoni had always accepted it as a matter of course, as if his family somehow deserved the respect and tribute paid them by every other vampire they ever dealt with. No wonder they simply didn’t deal with the Hassans. “Then my mother came here to…what? To try to force the issue?”

“Nothing so direct as that. She tried to leverage her prior relationship with Venn, to convince us the Dellarosas were worthy of respect and that we should be _grateful_ for the opportunity to work with them.” Lois’s lip curled into a sneer, his hands curling into claws on the edge of the cushion. This was as much explicit emotion as Antoni had seen from him thus far. Yet his tone remained calm as he continued, “And when that didn’t work, she tried to sabotage our operations. Venn only informed me of that after she’d left. The entire encounter was…unsavory.”

Antoni was silent for a moment, considering. It sounded as if Venn had every right to be furious with his family, to hate them, even. Her hostility when he’d first arrived was certainly justified. Yet she still somehow held his mother in high enough regard that she was willing to take him in on her behalf. And when they spoke of her, Venn’s response was hardly one of anger.

“So even after all that,” he muttered, unsure of how it was possible but knowing it must be true, “Venn still cares for her.”

“Let it never be said that she isn’t loyal. Even to those who no longer deserve it.” Lois let out a sigh and removed his glasses for a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’ve said as much as I can. If you want anything more, you’ll have to hear it from her.”

Antoni nodded, conceding he’d already pushed hard enough for information he had no right to. As he left Lois to his reading and wandered back toward his room, absently tracing the journal’s spine, his mind couldn’t stop trying (and failing) to make sense of Venn’s feelings. All in all, it was nearly unbelievable that after everything Enrico had taken from her, she could still allow his son to live under her roof.

— — —

But it was never intended to last forever.

Perhaps two months into Antoni’s stay in the Hassan household, on an evening like any other, he entered the dining hall to find that something was off. First, Arden and Lois were nowhere to be seen. In fact, none of the staff was present either, nor had he passed anyone in the halls. More to the point, Momoka’s typical spot at Venn’s side was now occupied by an entirely different frustrating redhead.

Antoni’s hackles raised immediately as he growled, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again too, cher,” Alastor answered, smirking smugly as he raised his teacup to his lips. “Have a seat. I understand you and I have quite a lot to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, tons of expository dialogue in this chapter, but I promised I have some fun action planned for the next one~. Stay tuned! 💖


End file.
